


Matrimony

by Aella_Antiope



Series: Balance [3]
Category: Kyou Kara Maou!
Genre: Angst, Friendship/Love, Future Fic, M/M, Polyfidelity, Wordcount: 5.000-10.000
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-01-02
Updated: 2011-01-02
Packaged: 2017-10-14 08:40:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,698
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/147416
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Aella_Antiope/pseuds/Aella_Antiope
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It is a few weeks before the historic wedding between the Demon King and the Great Sage, and preparations are in progress.  Wolfram is sad, Yuuri is impatient, and Murata gives his loves a precious gift.  A story in the <a href="http://archiveofourown.org/series/5702">Balance Universe</a>.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Matrimony

**Author's Note:**

  * For [HARPG0](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=HARPG0), [HARP0](https://archiveofourown.org/users/HARP0/gifts).



> Written for HARPG0 for Christmas, because she is awesome. Betaed by a good friend.

The wedding preparations meeting had dragged on for hours; okay, not hours, but too long for Yuuri, who was happy for everything to be organised without him. “Just tell me what to do, say and wear, and I’ll turn up.”

Wolfram had insisted that Yuuri be involved; and so here they were, with Günter and Murata, discussing last-minute guest placement, the lighting, and the wording in the King’s speech.

There was no doubt that Günter was thrilled. Anything to do with protocols and rituals and the excitable tutor was in heaven. Not even that his ‘beloved’ King was marrying another person, and not him, was getting him down. Between him, Celi and his own mother, Yuuri was sure that the event would go smoothly. Both of them had been powerhouses, and exceeded beyond all expectations, considering they had only a month to prepare everything.

Even so, he thought most of the wedding detail excessive, although it wasn’t as large as his first wedding – and he _couldn’t_ believe that he’d ever find himself thinking _that_. A second marriage without a divorce. His fifteen-year-old self would have had a hysterical meltdown. Yet, here he was, ten years later, wanting it over with already.

Wolfram had said little during the meeting. He had rested his head in one hand and gazed out of the window. His manner concerned Yuuri. Wolfram didn’t seem to be _that_ into the wedding details, and for someone who had insisted on being involved--had _insisted_ Yuuri be involved--it was odd.

Murata carried most of the conversation, looking interested in what Günter had to say about the symbolism, colour, and placement of the candles. Murata asked questions he would undoubtedly already know the answer to; Yuuri would bet half the Kingdom that Murata knew more about the ceremony than Günter.

“I have to go,” Wolfram announced suddenly. “We’re receiving a new shipment of horse tack. Michael will need assistance with the inventory.”

“Umm, sure,” Yuuri said, taken a little aback. He didn’t want to say any more, for it would embarrass Wolfram, and even if he _had_ , he wouldn’t have had the time. Wolfram scooped up his papers and left swiftly.

Yuuri exchanged a concerned look with Murata, who adjusted his glasses in pretend coolness.

“That reminds me. There is a matter I promised to resolve for Lady Ulrike,” Murata lied smoothly. “I’m sure Yuuri will be able to make the right decision on the final placement of the vases,” he said mildly, giving Yuuri a significant look.

“Of course.” It was a good thing that Günter was too caught up in candle arrangements to notice what was going on.

 _“I’ll talk to him,”_ Murata murmured in Japanese as he walked by.

“Now, then,” continued Günter, with relish. Yuuri tried to pay attention.

~***~

Wolfram wasn’t far. Just as Murata had thought, the prince was in a small alcove, sitting on a window seat which overlooked the entrance of the castle. Wolfram often came here to think, or brood, when he wanted alone time. Murata gave Wolfram space when he needed it, but his instinct told him that whatever was bothering Wolfram was something that needed to be resolved.

Murata paused for a moment, enjoying the view while he was unnoticed. Wolfram was looking out over the castle entrance, face in profile. That urge to grab a brush and paint came back to him; he was going to have to pick up painting as a hobby once more.

“So how is the horse tack?” he asked Wolfram, sarcasm mixed with fond amusement.

Wolfram started and gave Murata a guilty look.

Murata sat down next to him and looked out over the cobbled courtyard. Below, Sir Michael Wagner was efficiently directing Wolfram’s men. “It looks like your deputy has everything in hand.”

Wolfram hummed non-committally and gave him another guilty look, one tinged with sadness.

“I love you, Wolfram,” Murata said simply, before Wolfram could say anything.

Murata was being honest. The declaration was true, but he also wanted to see the soft, vulnerable look Wolfram got at such sudden announcements.

It really was quite a tribute to Wolfram that he’d managed to live the life of the Queen’s son, with decades of court experience, and still be so open with his feelings. They were alone now, but he’d seen flashes of raw emotion in public and it made Murata feel protective.

“You’ll be first-husband and Prince Consort. Technically, you’ll outrank me,” Murata said light-heartedly, deliberately trying to change the mood.

Wolfram gave him a small smile. “You’re the Great Sage. I don’t think the customary protocols apply.”

“That's going to keep Lord von Christ and Voltaire busy with working out where I fit ceremonially. My duties will double.” _Which means more functions, joy._ “And I think it means as the King’s husbands, we are evenly balanced in rank,” Murata said, reassuringly.

Wolfram considered his words but didn’t respond; there was no change in body language.

 _So that wasn’t what bothered the prince,_ he thought. He leaned over the back of the seat and followed Wolfram’s gaze. He would wait to see what Wolfram would say.

Which was nothing. With a brief look towards the entrance, Wolfram leaned forward and took him in a long kiss; gentle, undemanding, more a need for comfort and tenderness than desire. Slowly, Wolfram drew away.

“You’re probably wondering why it is that I’m so unenthusiastic?” Wolfram said quietly. Murata leaned his head on the window sill, resting his chin on his hand close to Wolfram.

“Do you want me to marry Yuuri?” Murata asked, voice soft.

The prince resumed looking down at the courtyard, his green eyes wet.

Wolfram had seemed quite keen before, but that was always in Shibuya's presence. Maybe a marriage was a bad idea. Wolfram had been so very generous with this relationship, but with marriage Murata was taking away Wolfram’s exclusive claim on Yuuri.

“Yes.”

He must have looked sceptical, for Wolfram sighed loudly and said, resolutely, “There is nothing more I want. It’s just...”

Wolfram rubbed his thumb along a smudge on the window. “I wish I was marrying you, too, which is a stupid thing to get mawkish about, because that's the way it is and it is useless to wish for things that can’t be.”

 _And yet you always have._ Murata thought. _Don’t ever stop._

“Does it help if I told you that when I’m up there, giving my vows, I’ll be thinking of both _you_ and Shibuya?” He pulled Wolfram’s hand to his lips, brushing it softly, and kept the warm hand against his cheek.

Murata knew that Wolfram valued romantic gestures, as much as he declared otherwise, when he knew they were sincere. It was possibly the main thing that most attracted Wolfram to Yuuri; Yuuri was no more capable of true subterfuge than a dragon was capable of sneaking into the city on market day.

“It helps,” Wolfram said, but the shadow behind his eyes didn’t wholly dissipate.

 

~***~

The colour swatches and plans covered the meeting table and a couple of chairs.

“Most unfortunately, Lady Cecilie has chosen the verdigris for the party décor, which, while appropriate for a King, is at least two centuries out of date. We must think of how we coordinate the short reception beforehand with that in mind, as long as it does not clash with the official colours of those who are guests. What do you think, Your Majesty?”

“Errr….” Yuuri really didn’t really care. “I support your decision in whatever you decide, Günter.” He was happy to see the counsellor pleased with his approval.

Yuuri’s brain was starting to turn to slush from all the talk of candles, vows, the number of horses and the seating arrangements of the ten aristocrats. He had to keep repeating to himself that this was nothing compared to his first wedding. But, even with being smaller, it held more importance; the Demon King marrying the Great Sage was completely without precedence.

It was a little bit like the President of the USA marrying the Pope…and _that_ brought forth a horrible mental picture. He shuddered, no. That didn’t quite make sense; they were in the same country. It was more like the Emperor of Japan marrying the Prime-Minister. Nope, that really wasn’t the same, either, and it was hard to come up with a mental image; possibly not a bad thing. He’d lost track of who was Japan’s Prime-Minister and he didn’t even know if the President he was thinking of was still in power in the USA. He focused himself from his meanderings in time to see Günter frowning at his daydreaming, ready to launch into some other obscure lecture. Oh, holy kami, no more!

“You know,” Yuuri said, as a distraction. “Have you ever thought of marrying?” Although an off-the-cuff remark, he found himself curious. Günter was one of the best-looking mazoku he’d seen. Not quite as beautiful as Wolfram, of course, but he was up there.

Yuuri could see how Günter’s high-strung personality could get on people’s nerves, but he was loyal, intelligent, a brilliant swordsman, and the only child of the richest aristocratic houses in the kingdom. Wolfram had drilled into him enough the importance of lineage, and Christ was as prominent as Bielefeld, Rochford and Spitzweg in status amongst the Aristocratic houses. The power politics of the nobles was a matter of endless discussion at meetings.

The light in Günter’s eyes dimmed and he looked a little sad. “Oh, I don’t think marriage is for me, Your Majesty.”

Before he could ask why, Günter’s eyes lit up with a genuine smile looking towards the entrance over Yuuri’s shoulder. He turned to see Gwendal, looking somber—as he always did—and awkward as he surveyed all the wedding samples and diagrams.

“Gwendal!” Günter said excitedly, “Have you joined us for the wedding preparations?”

“No,” Gwendal’s face told plainly exactly how little he was interested in state weddings. “But we have our weekly budget meeting now.” Gwendal glared at Günter.

The glare, as usual, failed to dim Günter’s fervor, who had never been intimidated by Gwendal’s dark looks. Yuuri was a little envious of that.

“Well then,” Yuuri said, not willing to let this opportunity for escape slip by, "I think I’ll leave you guys to it.”

He went in search of Wolfram and Murata.

 

~***~

Wolfram chugged down some more of the sweet wine that Yuuri’s mother had brought over. It made him feel a little giddy. This party was a celebration Yuuri had insisted on having with just immediate friends and family, with ‘no talk of politics or work, just fun.’

Apart from picnics with Yuuri and Greta, or dinner with Murata and Yuuri, he never had been part of a gathering that didn’t require some type of social nicety, and Wolfram wasn’t quite sure what to do with himself.

He was sitting with Conrad, who was watching the room with amusement. Murata was in the corner with Yozak and, even stranger, Yuuri’s father, giggling like thirty-year-olds. Yuuri was having an animated discussion with Greta, Jennifer and Gisela.

And Gwendal…well, Wolfram wasn’t sure what to think about him. His eldest brother was squashed, quite comfortably intoxicated, between Anissina and Günter. They were arguing about something around Gwendal, although he could tell it wasn’t that serious.

Wolfram narrowed his eyes. It wasn’t that Anissina was practically in his eldest brother’s lap that was bothering him; Anissina von Karbelnikoff had laid claim to Gwendal when they were children, and part from some other dalliances, he’d accepted that Anissina and Gwendal had a ‘thing’, as Yuuri liked to call it, something between friendship and lovers. Wolfram could never work out which.

No, it was the casual hand that Günter had on Gwendal’s thigh. He had always had his suspicions, but…Günter had been involved with Gwendal’s deputy up until recently. Now he wondered if that was true.

And Gwendal seemed…he looked content.

“Relax, Wolfram.” Conrad was following his gaze.

“I think our brother deserves a little happiness.”

“I think our brother should be mindful of who he _associates_ with,” Wolfram retorted.

Even if Conrad hadn’t then looked disappointed, Wolfram felt a tinge of shame.

However, Wolfram rationalised, Conrad was a half-breed. He wouldn’t fully understand. Wolfram was a Bielefeld of one of the most proud houses of Shin Makoku, and he had a responsibility to his pure-blood heritage.

It was difficult for Wolfram to accept things which clashed with what he’d been brought up to believe was correct. It was bad enough having to grow up with his mother’s embarrassing conduct.

Yes, Wolfram had married a half-breed and adopted a human daughter…but still, there were _standards_. Yuuri was the Demon King, sanctioned by Shinou and the Maou, Murata was the Great Sage, and Greta was a human Princess.

Wolfram took another mouthful of wine, feeling sad.

Change had never been kind to Wolfram. It was better to be careful, to follow the rules. He’d only just found a place he could feel happy, could feel safe. He was afraid of things which would threaten what was his, could threaten his standing and place next to Yuuri and Murata. His eldest brother, always reliable and solid, had a spotless reputation amongst the Aristocracy. Any scandal would reflect on Wolfram, and Shinou knew his mother’s was shot beyond repair.

He looked over at Günter. It didn’t take much to tarnish a great House’s repute.

“Does it look like anyone cares?” Conrad said, waving his hands to indicate the room, mildly rebuking. “I know you and Günter have never gotten along, but he has a kind heart. All of us are hindered by greater social expectations, but, with Yuuri, we’ve found a little freedom.” Conrad looked at him directly. “ _You_ of all people should recognise that.”

Wolfram looked away, not prepared to see the empathy there. “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he said quietly, feeling selfish and afraid. He carefully loosened the grip he had on the wine glass.

Conrad dropped the subject.

 

~***~

Murata watched. After talking to Conrad, Wolfram had migrated over to sit next to Yuuri. At this moment, Shibuya had his hand clasped with Wolfram's as he whispered something in the prince’s ear. Wisps of gold had fallen from his ponytail, emphasising his fragile beauty. Wolfram’s laugh was high and ended in a snort. The prince then slapped Shibuya on the hand in mock-outrage and Yuuri doubled up in laughter. A moment of blind adoration flashed over Yuuri’s face when he looked at Wolfram again.

It was rare to see Wolfram so relaxed outside their chambers. Those two were so in love with each other Murata couldn’t believe he’d been allowed into their world.

“You are one _lucky_ man, Ken,” Yozak said in appreciation, also watching the exchange.

“Yes,” Murata agreed, and gave Yozak a smug smile. It faded as he looked into his wine. He’d drunk a little too much, getting to a point where he felt a little weepy. “But it’s not going to be easy. I’ll have to work hard to make sure they are both safe for when Lord von Rochford makes his move. ”

Mazoku took their time, and he was certain that when Rochford took action he’d be long gone. He’d have to work hard to set the groundwork.

“Now you’re getting maudlin,” Yozak accused, taking Murata's wine from him.

“Maybe,” he smiled sadly. “What is it that Rochford said, ‘That _pretender_ has surrounded himself with humans, half-breeds and _inverts._ ’" Murata was referring to a report of Rochford’s conversation, which had been recently spied on. “It’s only a matter of time.”

“Most likely, and when the time comes, you know we’ll protect them, but _now_ is a time for appreciating what _you_ have,” Yozak said, pointedly looking over toward Shibuya and Wolfram. “They will be _protected_ , Ken I give you my word." Yozak said, looking back at Murata a little more seriously and a touch of understanding. "Conrad alone would face down the fates to keep them safe.” Unspoken was the fact that both Yozak and Conrad would be around much longer.

“Thank you,” Murata said.

 

~***~

It was a few hours after midnight when they left the party. Murata had enjoyed the relaxed atmosphere. They had left Günter sleeping against a half-comatose Gwendal, a very chipper Shouma and Miko, who had gone back to their rooms nearby singing old Japanese pop songs – and Greta, who was going to go retrieve little Huber from Lady Cecilie, who had volunteered babysitting with Nicola.

The last he saw of Yozak was him leaving with Conrad for a few more drinks. Yozak had been trying to seduce the man for years. Sometimes he wondered if Yozak would know what to do if Conrad finally accepted Yozak’s advances. Yozak’s game with the Captain had become a large part of their relationship, teetering between friendship and something more. Murata doubted anything would happen tonight, but he wished Yozak good luck.

Between himself and his lovers, Murata was the most intoxicated. Yuuri very rarely drank too much. Wolfram was red-faced and tipsy, but could hold his alcohol well.

His buzz energised him, and he grabbed Shibuya and Wolfram’s hands. The hallway was deserted, without guards or servants. Murata had planned to do this in a few days, but it suddenly became important to do it now.

“There is something I want to show you.” He wavered a little on his feet.

“I don’t know I think maybe you should sleep, Ken-chan,” Yuuri said soothingly.

Murata shook his head. “ _Now_ is better,” he urged them.

There was a moment of silence, then Shibuya tilted his head and squeezed his hand in agreement. “Okay.”

Wolfram nodded agreement.

Murata led them down the hall and tapped a wooden panel. It opened inward into a black passageway.

Shibuya took one look and created a glow-ball.

The stairway beyond was dark and narrow, but wide enough to fit two people. Yuuri’s grip was tight, which was lucky because he stumbled and had to be steadied a few times.

The passage was well-known, frequently used by the servants and inhabitants to move between floors. It eventually led down to the great library, with two other exits on the first and second floor.

What the servants didn’t know was that there was another door, secret. He counted the steps carefully after the first exit. Half-way between the first and second floor, Murata stopped.

“I think it’s around here,” he mumbled. He tapped Shibuya’s glow-ball and it became brighter, lighting up the area.

“There,” he pointed at one of the stone slabs, which was darker than the others.

He pushed it in and the wall moved with a reluctant rumble. Behind was a long passageway, leaning downward on a gentle decline. Murata could _smell_ the magical enchantment used to preserve the passage and the chamber below for thousands of years.

Murata took the glow-ball and led the way, where the passage was narrower and the air stale. Dust was kicked up and Wolfram sneezed, grumbling under his breath.

“We’re almost there.”

The passage widened into a small antechamber and he stopped. Ahead was a plain wooden door, and above it Shinou’s emblem was engraved in the stone.

“A chapel,” Wolfram said, surprised, as he came around from behind.

“Yes,” Murata said softly.

“Is this-?”

“Yes, this is Shinou’s Chapel.”

Shibuya looked between them with confusion.

“This is where some of the more famous former monarchs worshipped and where they were married. Where Shinou was married,” Wolfram explained.

“He was married?”

Wolfram gave the king a mildly annoyed look.

Murata nodded and placed his hand against the door, and whispered the password in a language long dead.

The door glowed a bright blue and then faded. Blinking against the afterimage, Murata grasped the doorknob and pushed in.

The windowless room was exactly as he remembered it, and, unlike the stairway and the anteroom, it was free of dust. Everything as new and untouched as the day they were built. The only indication that the room had been sealed away for a long time was the air, as stale as outside.

Shibuya set the glow-ball up above, in the centre of the ceiling, and the room was exposed to the light.

It was about half the size of the king’s bedchamber, big enough for twelve people to stand comfortably. Apart from the cushions in front of the altar there were no furnishings; the floor was dominated by a thick, dark rug edged with gold. The walls were covered by vivid murals, one of a hill whose centrepiece was the sacred tree, exquisite in its details. The other wall featured a forest with unicorns and a great dragon flying across the blue sky, reminding Murata of when the behemoths were common and larger than their endangered offspring.

The wall behind held a tapestry of graceful blue-green patterns set amongst orange flowers. In front was two marble altars. Floating above the larger was a stylised ornate gold sun, silver moon, and blue planet. The smaller altar was only knee high, designed to be knelt before.

“The sun, the moon and the world,” Murata said as he saw Yuuri admiring the hovering symbols.

Elemental magic made the world glow, the ocean and land very much like Murata had seen of photos of Earth. Except for the different land masses, they were identical. Earth’s twin.

“This was more a place to honour the elements. Shinou was never meant to become a God,” Murata said, regretfully.

He turned and looked at Wolfram, who was conspicuously silent, his hair glossy golden from the glow-ball, eyes large with awe as he gazed at the altar.

“This is incredible,” Shibuya said. “Did you...err, did Shinou marry the original Great Sage?”

Wolfram cringed next to him.

It was okay; time had dulled the hurt and the alcohol helped make it easier for Murata to talk about it.

“No, he married a wonderful woman. A great warrior.”

“My ancestors, all of them were great warriors,” Wolfram said slowly, his eyes wide in wonder.

“Half-breeds, humans and inverts,” Murata, faintly echoing Rochford.

“They were _heroes_!” Wolfram objected, outraged and confused.

Murata shrugged at Wolfram. He smiled wryly, knowing he was being misunderstood.

“Yes, they were.”

“You loved him,” Shibuya said, distracting Wolfram from his indignation. Yuuri’s voice was thick with a new awareness, and he could detect a faint hint of jealousy.

Murata nodded. “It was easy to; everyone loved him, even if he was too self-important for his own good. The person I was then loved him a bit too much and he loved me, in his way -"

“Just not the way you wanted him to,” Wolfram finished sadly. Murata could see he could identify with the first Great Sage, all too well.

“Yes,” he agreed, feeling sad.

That point in time was no more, this moment was more important.

 

~***~

Wolfram could not believe it. He was in _the_ Chapel, the one that he grew up hearing tales about. It was said that it was hidden somewhere in the Castle, purposely hidden away thousands of years ago. As a little boy he’d searched everywhere, all the castle children did. The legends said it held great treasures and was protected by elemental spirits. Some had believed, quite wrongly as it turned out, that it held Morgif.

Before Wolfram had come of age he’d dismissed it as a myth; there were many stories from the times of Shinou and most were too fantastical to be true.

But it _was_ true; here it was, only a floor down from his old bedroom.

There didn’t appear to be a huge hoard of treasure and there were no elemental spirits around, apart from the one that lived within Yuuri. Nevertheless, the room held great power. He could feel it; whether it was from the room, or an item in there, he couldn’t tell. It must have been sealed tight, for such raw power would have been felt a good half-day from the capital by any mazoku with a smidgen of sensitivity. The magic hummed against the back of his skull and down his spine, not unpleasant, but initially overwhelming.

Murata glasses were reflected white from the glow-ball, so Wolfram couldn’t see his expression. Wolfram desperately wanted to, his heart aching in empathy with the admission of the first Great Sage's feelings.

“I want to show you something,” Murata said, neutrally.

Murata kneeled down on a cushion before the small altar and carefully removed a stone smoothly from the bottom of the white-gold streaked marble. Within was a concealed compartment. Murata pulled out an object, a plain wooden case, with care.

There was a sense of anticipation in the air that Wolfram was reluctant to disturb. He was so focused on Murata that he started a little when Yuuri took hold of his hand.

Murata paused his head bowed, his half-bound long hair obscuring his profile. Then, his shoulders set, he placed the box on the surface of the altar. Wolfram kneeled down on the other side, away from the large altar, facing Murata. Yuuri kneeled on his left.

Murata opened the box and pulled out the contents, a plain silver and gold ring on a leather thong necklace. Wolfram knew what they were. It would make sense for them to be hidden away in Shinou’s chapel; just like everyone, he thought they had been lost. He wondered if Yuuri had read about them.

He looked over at the Great Sage, not knowing what to say, only to see tears streaming down behind his glasses. Yuuri leaned forward and clasped his hands. “Murata...?”

“I’m sorry,” Murata said his voice strained. He took his glasses off, rubbed his eyes and looked at Wolfram as if seeing him for the first time.

Wolfram was glad when Murata didn’t put them back on, instead placing them in his pocket. He wanted to reach over and hug Murata, but he knew this wasn’t the time.

Murata untied the thong and slowly pulled the rings off and held them in his hand. The leather thong became brittle and fell to pieces and then dust as the preservative enchantment imbued in the rings left them.

“It’s been awhile,” Murata said to Yuuri as Wolfram gasped.

“Those are...,” Wolfram said and Yuuri gave him a questioning look. He shook his head slightly. He was sure Murata would explain it soon enough.

Murata cradled the rings in the palm of his hand. “These are very special.”

He took hold of Yuuri’s left hand slowly and placed the silver ring on it, then leaned across and did the same for Wolfram with the gold ring. _Shinou’s_ ring. The metal felt warm, not cold like he expected, and he touched it gently with his other hand.

“Murata?” He didn’t understand.

“On Earth,” Murata looked directly at him, “it’s a tradition with some cultures to put the ring on that finger to signify union in marriage.”

Murata held Yuuri’s ringed hand in his right, and with his left he reached over and clasped Wolfram’s.

“With these tokens, I profess my heart and my life unto death.” He spoke in an ancient dialect, and Wolfram could only just follow the meaning, but then Murata repeated it again in common mazoku, looking at Yuuri.

Immediately Yuuri burned a bright blue, his eyes becoming feline and elegant-like, his hair lengthening.

“This token you give and your offer has been accepted,” the Maou said.

The silver ring Yuuri-Maou was wearing glowed bright, as did Wolfram’s. He looks down at it in surprise, expecting it to burn, but it still felt safely warm. Fascinated, he looked as a liquid like gold sliver unravelled from his ring and rose to join the stream of silver from Yuuri’s ring. The moment they joined there was a flare of brightness, forcing his eyes shut. He could feel a small shudder from Murata’s hand; it was so rare to see the Great Sage shaken. When the light dimmed behind his lids he opened them to find a finely wrought ring floating in the air, held in place by the Maou’s blue aura. The ring was a swirl like pattern of both silver and gold.

The ring descended smoothly and silently, and with a clink settled onto the altar between them.

Yuuri-Maou’s blue light faded and Yuuri was back to his self, looking a little shell shocked he exhaled loudly. He picked up the ring with great care and placed it on Murata’s hand.

“This is...this pleased the Maou,” Yuuri placed his hand over Murata’s.

“My heart and life,” he said. _Oh yes._

Trembling, Wolfram placed his own hand on top, determined to keep his voice steady and only failing a little. “My heart and life.”

 

~***~

The moment held for a little longer, then Murata let out a nervous laugh. He didn’t expect the Maou’s actions, or the ring on his finger, or Yuuri and Wolfram returning his oath. He wanted to weep. He wanted to laugh. Murata Ken wasn’t sure what to do; his body was strung out with adrenaline and the slowly disappearing effects of the wine from earlier.

He took a deep breath and looked down at the ring on his finger, touching the smooth warmth fondly.

“These rings was very precious to the Great Sage. Shinou had them fashioned for us both as a token of friendship and love. I say this because...in the tradition of the Great Sage’s mother, who was from a small human tribe.” _Now long gone_. He paused to steady himself and heard Wolfram’s surprised intake of breath. The mazoku had long forgotten that the first Great Sage was a half-breed, a rarity like Yuuri who had inherited a mazoku’s intrinsic ability to channel elemental power. Mazoku did not have black hair or eyes. That colouring that once they hated, but now so revered, was never natural to the mazoku race.

Daikenja had been feared and hated for his human blood. It was so rare for a mazoku talented to have such colouring, a bastard unrecognised and barely tolerated by his Aristocratic father. His mother had died when he’d reached adolescence; every day a misery, tormented by the others, often alone with only his books and research for company. His mother’s stories of her tribe and family the only thing he had left of her, that and his accursed black hair and eyes.

Shinou had found him, had taken him in, had protected him when his abilities were revealed to the mazoku race, otherwise he would have been killed. A half-breed with power was most reviled, for their very existence gave lie to the conviction that mazoku were superior in every way.

Shinou had kept him safe and respected him as an equal, valued his counsel after years of being ignored, beaten and spat upon. Shinou had been his first and only true friend in that lifetime. How could Daikenja not have loved the golden first Demon King?

Murata Ken was _not_ that person. But the memories were still fresh, almost as if they were from his prior life and all the many lives since were faded and dreamlike in comparison. He looked down at the fused ring on his hand and raised his head, looking first at Yuuri and then at Wolfram. He held the latter’s eyes and continued.

“In his mother's tribe, when a person binds himself to another in marriage they would give their most precious possession to their future spouse as a symbol of their love. I can’t marry you, Wolfram,” he touched the ring on the prince’s finger lightly. “But I consider you my husband in my heart.”

_And will for as long as I breathe._

Wolfram gave him a wobbly smile, his eyes moist. And he looked over to see Shibuya smiling at Wolfram.

He could feel the ring, still slightly warm on his finger, and with even less dignity he shuffled over around next to Wolfram. They shared a kiss. He could feel Yuuri’s arm around them and turned his head, kissing Yuuri’s cheek as Wolfram took Yuuri in a kiss. He put his arms around of both of them and buried his head in the crook of Yuuri’s neck as Wolfram kissed his neck and his cheek.

He had loved the first Demon King with all his heart, had saved Shinou’s soul by taking his life and lived with the acrimony from his comrades for the rest of his days. When his life was coming to an end, he had bound a forbidden enchantment on his soul in an agonising ritual requiring the sacrifice of his blood and life-force to complete. And all so he could keep his promise to Shinou, and fulfil his task lifetime after lifetime until Soushou could be defeated.

During his darkest moments he had wondered so often if it had been worth it. Caught in agony and insanity, he had cursed Shinou, and cursed his foolishness for letting his heart rule his inherent pragmatism—even then, so very strong in his first life. In some lives it had been hard to remember the feeling of that love, and only the memory remained to haunt him. He had forfeited his soul for Shinou. He must have loved him deeply.

But without the promise, he would never had met Shibuya and Wolfram. He would never have completed his task, found rest and enjoyed love that was shared. He had loved others after Shinou, in many different ways, in many different lives. But this was the last and, it seemed to Murata Ken, the most rewarding.

His life would be short as a human, and there was one more ritual he would need to complete with his last breath, to end it forever, to let oblivion take him as his soul disintegrated.

His final penance for breaking all the natural laws of karma.

But it was all worth it, if he could, even for a little while have this. Murata closed his eyes and cherished the warmth and love of the men in his arms.

 

~***~

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